False Accusation

When the rain falls, the flowers bloom and wither as the seasons change. The young man looked at the tombstone in front of him, where his father was buried. How could a conscientious man become a criminal that everyone shouted to beat? Why did he have to bear all this infamy? Does hatred dominate tragedy? Or does tragedy bring hatred? Murders in ancient towns, sacrifices in deserted villages, people folding flowers on rainy nights... Helping kill people just to find the truth... When the rain stopped, the flowers wilted in the soil, just like a sad dream.